We Are Our Own Last Hope
by Burning Stars
Summary: A squad of Asari commandos find themselves stranded after their ship is shot down on a backwater planet. In order to survive, they must unite the surviving civilians and fight off the invading Krogan. Post-ME3.
1. Stranded

**I do not own Mass Effect.**

* * *

I stare at the billowing smoke as it curls into the beautiful sunset sky, blotting out the golden clouds and tainting the air with the musky smell of burnt trees. Something snaps next to me and I turn to see one of the other commandos, Silera, walking towards me with a Revenant assault rifle slung over her shoulder. I'm beginning to think that haughty face is her default expression.

Stopping next to me, Silera says, "It's been five hours. Do you honestly think the Referendum will see the smoke?"

I shrug. "Add more logs. Make the fire bigger, and they're bound to notice eventually."

She raises an eyebrow. "Assuming the Idyllic Referendum is still in orbit, and hasn't left us all by ourselves."

Two of the burning trees crack, spewing a torrent of embers up into the air. Everything around me glows with orange firelight, and it almost seems tranquil. Then I remember the four dead enemy Krogan lying at the edge of the forest, their armor reduced to shrapnel and their bodies full of bullets, half-torn apart by warp fields. They came for us after our vessel suffered engine failure, forcing us down to the planet's surface and into ground combat. Next to the Krogan lay two commandos from my unit: Juniper, who suffered a fatal gunshot to the head, and Lenie, who was crushed by one of the raging Krogan. Their deaths bring my squad down to six.

"Radio silence is an idiotic tactic," Silera mutters, referring to our literal use of smoke signals to contact the leadership. "As if the Krogan are smart enough to intercept our transmissions."

Her pessimism is beginning to annoy me. "Don't underestimate the enemy," I say, keeping my voice level. "And don't question command, because they know what they're doing. That's why they're in charge."

"Right. We've been standing here for the past five hours, down two commandos, with not even a whisper from our leadership. That really inspires the utmost confidence within me."

I sigh and shift my weight, wishing that Silera would shut up. But I also foster a growing fear, watching the skies overhead, empty save the smoke, and I wonder why leadership has remained so silent. They should have checked in by now.

"Look alive," Silera says, snapping to attention.

A tall Asari returns to our camp, her otherwise refined features cut in half by a ragged scar that runs from her left temple down across her nose and to the right corner of her mouth. The deep, pure blue of her skin gives her a regal appearance. As our commanding officer, Arden looks the part.

Blue light flickers across her right arm and a biotic barrier forms around the fire, depriving it of oxygen, killing it one flame at a time. I watch with a certain sadness as the blaze sputters into nothingness, and within a minute, the entire bonfire is dead.

I look upon the blackened logs with dismay. To see the fire die so quickly makes me think I just wasted five hours of my life tending to it.

Offering an explanation, our commander says, "The Idyllic Referendum isn't coming for us."

"Why?" I ask, confused.

"The Referendum was shot down in the northern hemisphere. As far as I know, there are no survivors. The Regiment has ordered us to move to the nearest population center, and defend it as best we can."

Silera's face falls. "So they've abandoned us? We're stranded?"

Arden rolls back her shoulders, and shakes her head. "'Abandonment' is an inappropriate term. Extraction is simply impossible. The Dominion is advancing upon our solar system, and upwards of eighty thousand Krogan are headed for this planet alone. The Council cannot risk wasting more soldiers on a Podunk, unnecessary world like Alcmene, when they have Thessia and Earth to worry about. There are too few people here to warrant a rescue. We are not a top priority."

"That's a lie," one of the other commandos says, though her green eyes betray her own doubt. "Two hundred thousand people live here: Asari, Humans, Quarians, even Batarians. The Council has to send someone, some kind of rescue party."

The commander sets her jaw, and takes a few seconds to formulate a response. "We can hope, but don't count on it. For now, we're on our own. Asa is the city nearest to us, about twenty five miles to the east. That is our new destination."

"You're sure they aren't overrun yet?" I ask, slinging my assault rifle over my shoulder.

"No, I am not sure," Arden responds. "But it is the only course of action available to us. We were assigned to protect the people of Alcmene, and that is what we will do."

Without any further argument, the remainder of my squad organizes their weapons and ammunition, strips our downed vessel of all valuable parts and resources, and take a few moments to honor Juniper and Lenie. We bury their bodies in separate shallow graves, underneath the trees, and Arden says a few words.

"Though you rest under foreign skies," she whispers, "may you find peace in the embrace of the goddess."

I didn't know either of them very well, though Arden and two of the other commandos did. They show little emotion over the loss, but I know that internally, they suffer great pain.

As the skies darken, we descend from the mountain and cut into the forests, keeping under the cover of trees to prevent the Krogan from aerially tracking our heat signatures. Around us, small orbs of glowing yellow light drift in and out of the trees, lazily flickering on and off. To my recollection, they are called fireflies. The Humans must have imported them from Earth.

Over the hills and through the trees, I can see a small mountain resting right on the coast, and though I cannot see any lights, I know that Asa rests on the opposite side of the small valley that spans before us. The people are smart enough to keep their lights off during an invasion; perhaps there is hope for them yet. Beyond the mountain, a black ocean glimmers under a silver half-moon, and even from thirteen miles away I faintly smell the briny aroma of the sea. Nearby, an insect clicks a message into the night.

Sweating in the dark, I think of how much cooler I would be if I didn't have to wear my armor. Even though there is no sun in the sky, the air still retains the sticky heat and humidity that prevailed in the daytime hours. I scratch my scalp, and wipe a bead of sweat away from my eyes. Though we do our best to keep quiet and leave as little evidence of our presence as possible, the branches snap underneath our footfalls, the leaves rustle with our passing, and I worry that if any Krogan were actually nearby, they would have no trouble finding us.

I am surprised when, directly in front of us, a bright yellow light flashes across the bushes and trees, then disappears. Aiming my rifle at the spot where the light had been, I inch forwards, following closely behind Arden. She raises her hand, and we all come to a halt. A weak breeze blows past, and I worry that it will carry our scent to whatever we're aiming at.

I hear someone speaking in low tones, their voice muffled by the dirt and leaves, but it sounds close. We creep towards the source of the noise, weapons in hand, and the shadowy outline of a two-story house comes into view.

Before we can hide, the same soft yellow light floods the night, banishing the darkness beyond the trees, and the first thing I see is a human male standing on a porch, pointing a presumably loaded shotgun at us. The light emanates from a lamp, bolted next to a screen door, directly above his head. Because of the angle, harsh shadow obscures his expression.

"I _thought_ I heard something!" he cries gruffly, though when he sees that we are Asari, he lowers the barrel and relaxes. Half-turning to the door, he calls, "Holly! False alarm!"

From inside the house, a female responds, "Got it."

The light goes off, and the man's silhouette turns back to us. "You here because of the Krogan?"

"Yes," Arden responds. "Have you encountered any?"

"No, luckily. I don't think we'd stand a chance fighting one of them, let alone an army. Who sent you here, anyways?"

"The Regiment."

"Oh."

For a moment, it is silent.

"Well, as long as you're the good guys, do you need a place to stay?" the man asks tentatively.

"We were headed to the city of Asa," I say, though I would prefer to spend the night here.

Tier, one of the other commandoes, asks, "What do you think, commander?"

Running a hand across her mouth, Arden lets out a sigh. "It depends. What kind of defense force protects Asa? Military, civilian militia…?"

"Well, they have a strong police force," the man responds. "And there's a naval base about six miles up the coast. Other than that, I don't know."

"How many people live in the city?"

"Around ten thousand."

"And how many people live nearby?"

"You mean our neighbors? Well, the vas Jespar family lives one house down, about a quarter mile away. They're Quarian. The Tulaines live a mile beyond. They're human. And the Joneses live about a half mile in the other direction. They're human, too. Those are really the only neighbors we have."

It takes our commander a few more moments to respond, but she finally answers, "We gladly accept your offer." She turns back to us. "But tomorrow at sunrise, we continue on to Asa. We are most needed there."

"Understood," we all reply, but I am secretly relieved. Black Krogan blood still fouls my armor and the left side of my face, leftover from tearing one of them in half with a warp field. The sweat and dirt are bearable, but if I have the choice, I want a shower. Hopefully these kind people have running water.

All six of us step up onto the creaking porch single-file and follow the man into his house. In the white kitchen light, I see that fear has tainted his skin gray, and his blue eyes are wide with apprehension.

"So you know about the Dominion invasion?" I ask.

"Yes. How couldn't we? They don't exactly have a peaceful track record. We knew what they wanted the moment they showed up in our skies three days ago."

Nodding, I look around the dimly-lit house, and see a blond-haired human female, probably in her mid-thirties, standing in one corner and bouncing a baby on her hip. The infant stares at all of us with big, curious eyes. Whispering between themselves, two other dark-haired children sit at the base of a stairwell, terror evident in their young faces. I smile at them, and I am surprised when they hesitantly return the gesture.

Beyond a doorway, in the living room, a young woman sits beside an Asari youth, and both of them draw pictures on a short coffee table. I wonder why this Asari child lives with a human family.

The man hurriedly gestures down a hallway. "We have a shower, if you need it. There are also two spare rooms, and the living room if want to sleep." He looks around confusedly, not knowing what to do, and questioningly throws up his arms. "Are you hungry?"

"Do you have the food to spare?" Tier asks.

The man dismisses her concerns with a wave of his hand. "Don't worry about that. We have enough food to last for a long while."

The woman with the baby, who I assume to be his wife, grabs onto his arm, and through gritted teeth she hisses, "Henry!"

"What?" he demands, and even though the word conveys anger, he gently places his hand over hers. "They are here to help us. We might as well help them."

Taking a step back, the woman looks down and removes her hand. "Alright." Addressing us, she says, "I apologize for my selfishness. We will provide you with dinner, and breakfast." Falteringly, she adds, "Thank you for protecting us."

_Don't be so quick to thank us_, I think. _We haven't saved anyone yet._


	2. Asa

**I do not own Mass Effect.**

* * *

Through the scope of Teir's sniper rifle, I see shadowy buildings sitting at the edge of the ocean, eight miles away. All of the lights are off, and the city of Asa is dark.

Silera stands next to me, chasing a carrot around her plate with a fork. The owners of this house have kindly provided my entire squadron with dinner, and Silera was quick to take them up on the offer. I have already eaten my food.

"See anything noteworthy?" she asks, mouth full.

"Not much." I lower the rifle, wondering how the city will fare, and hand the weapon back to Teir. She nods in thanks, slinging it over her shoulder. I push up from the windowsill and let out a yawn. "It's too dark to see anything."

Nodding, Silera wipes her mouth with her hand and returns to the kitchen for seconds. We haven't seen any other food in a day and a half, so her appetite is understandable, but nevertheless her manners are deplorable. In her gluttony, she steals food this family's younglings.

I look over and see the two dark-haired children, and older son and a younger daughter, lying on the living room floor, fiddling around with a chess set. On the sofa, the Asari child has fallen asleep, and the teenage female who was drawing with her earlier is nowhere to be found.

The middle-aged woman walks over to me and crosses her empty arms, now devoid of the baby she put to bed over an hour ago.

"Her name is Aethya," the woman murmurs, noticing my fixation on the Asari child. "She's my niece."

"Really?"

"Yes. My brother married an Asari, and he and his wife - or bondmate, whatever you call your spouses-"

"'Wife' is fine. I don't care either way."

"Oh." She pauses, and I see her jaw muscles tense up. "They lived on Scion."

I feel a pang of remorse for the Asari child. I know where this story is going.

Scion was the first world invaded by the Krogan Dominion. Less than one tenth of the civilian population made it out alive, and as a result of the bloodbath, the Krogan claimed Scion, disregarding previous treaties hammered out by the Humans and the Salarians. It was an official declaration of war, and the sudden act of violence caught the rest of the galaxy off-guard.

"And your brother and his wife were killed," I say, finishing the woman's train of thought.

A moment of silence passes between us. "Yes. And we thought that bringing Aethya here would keep her safe."

"You had no reason to believe that the Krogan Dominion would advance upon Alcmene."

A mirthless smirk escapes from the woman. "But we should have known. The Krogan never stop. They won't stop until the entire galaxy is either under their control or reduced to a burning heap of rubble."

"Don't confuse the Krogan Dominion with the Krogan race. Not all Krogan are interested in violence and galactic domination."

Leaning against the doorway, the woman narrows her eyes at me. "Of course. Only two thirds of an extremely strong, extremely violent race are interested in galactic domination. That last third is interested in peace, so much so that they stand by and do nothing to stop their more violent brethren, who tear up our colonies and home worlds without a second thought. Peace? Sounds more like passive compliance to me."

"I understand your anger."

"Oh, _do you_?"

I straighten my posture and glare at the woman. "More than you know. My home was destroyed, my city blackened, and my planet taken by the Dominion. I lost nearly everything; I thank the Goddess that my parents made it off world safely." I turn fully towards her, squaring off my shoulders and letting the anger fade from my gut. "And so here I stand before you, human. I wish to ensure that you don't suffer the same loss."

For a few moments, the woman merely stares at me. She finally responds, "I am sorry for your loss."

"I appreciate your sympathy."

Pushing off from the doorway, the woman looks out the window, her eyes searching for the city of Asa, invisible in the night. A grin graces her lips, though her eyes remain dour. "Why now? What set them off?"

"Well," I say, preparing for a monologue, "their previous leader, who ruled for a century and a half, monitored the growth of their population and kept the different clans in check. That leader, a brilliant mind by the name of Urdinot Wrex, kept the Krogan supremacists from gaining any political control. Three members of clan Weyrloc didn't agree with his political stance, and eight months ago they landed an assassination on Wrex, stealing the reigns of power and sending their entire species into political disarray. Now most, but not all, of the Krogan are advancing into occupied solar systems, generally wiping out the native life and claiming the territory as their own."

"But didn't they do something like this a couple thousand years ago? The Turians won that war, didn't they?"

"Yes, by developing the genophage."

"And then some Salarian fool went and developed a cure," Silera interjects, seating herself at the large, ornate dining table, and she cheerfully picks at her plate, which is now piled high with food.

"Mordin Solus wasn't a fool," I retort, peeved by Silera's shortsightedness. "The Krogan were a dying race, and it seemed like mercy at a time. We also needed them to defeat the reapers. But with the way the cure worked, it gave the Krogan genetic immunity to all other genophage-like viruses. Disease is no longer a viable offensive tactic, so we have to find other means of victory."

"It's a pity the Krogan couldn't live up to the galaxy's expectations," the woman says. "Fools or not, the people back then were too soft. They didn't consider what kind of ramifications would result from their _mercy_, what kind of battles later generations would have to fight because of their _kindness."_

I shake my head half-heartedly, unable to dispute the truth. "They had no way of knowing what would happen. They… did what was best at the time."

"Defend them all you want." She walks away from me and sits down next to Aethya, resting her head on the back of the couch, the movement expressing exhaustion. How long has it been since she slept?

I exit the house, careful to keep the door from slamming into the wall. The darkness greets me with a muggy humidity. All of the insects have put an end to their nighttime symphony, the fireflies have turned in for the night, and the air around the house is completely windless and still.

Holding a radio in her hand, Arden sits on the porch, bowing her head, awaiting contact that may never come.

"Commander," I venture, hanging in the doorway. "Have you heard anything?"

Even in the low light, I see the silhouette of her shoulders fall with a sigh. "Nothing but static. I truly fear that none of the Referendum's crew survived the crash."

"Perhaps they fear that the Krogan will track their signal. Or maybe their radios were damaged in the crash."

"There is always hope," Arden says, though her words lack conviction. "Nevertheless, we cannot expect any form of rescue or aid. We are on our own."

Leaning back into the doorway, I don't know how to respond. When I took this assignment, I knew the danger involved. I knew that the Krogan could wipe our my entire squadron. Even so, I don't want to die here.

Something drags my attention away and I step out onto the porch, staring up at the sky. I determine that the distraction is a low hum, running through the atmosphere, deep enough to rattle my bones.

A huge, black shape passes quickly overhead, whipping up a windstorm and sending leaves and dirt flying through the air. Four glowing mass effect thrusters are visible on the underside, and they are the source of the whirlwind. I raise my hands to protect my face, and through my fingers I see the craft move towards Asa, red lights glowing on the underside of the hull, the absence of wings indicative of spaceflight-capable engines.

Fear floods my every cell. The ship belongs to the Krogan.

Tier and Silera rush out of the house behind me, weapons at the ready. When they see the ship, they lower their weapons in shock, their eyes wide with horror. The rest of my squadron, Giovanna and Hazibelle, both stagger out into the night, watching in disbelief as the ship shrinks away from us, advancing towards the doomed city.

The family crowds into the doorway, unwilling to step outside, and I see stony terror etched into the parent's faces, while the children look around with the kind of dread derived from innocence, not knowing the true extent of their danger, but knowing enough to experience fear.

As I watch, a red glow appears on their faces, growing in intensity, and I spin around to the ship, in time to see a crimson light flash across the hull, then split away from the vessel and soar through the air, slamming into the city of Asa with utter devastation. Blood red plasma wraps around the city, burning through the buildings and cutting into the ground, leaving glowing craters of superheated earth in its wake. Hundreds of structures immediately collapse upon impact, sending up clouds of dust and debris, and dozens of fires instantaneously burst into existence, entombing half of the city in a raging inferno. The residual plasma casts a haunting red radiance across the dust and smoke, giving the entire scene a nightmarish quality.

I can only watch as ten thousand people perish.


	3. The Quarian

** I do not own Mass Effect.**

* * *

I sit at the end of the porch, unwilling to move. Unwilling to speak.

The assault rifle is like ice in my hands, heavy and cold, and I think of how many lives I've taken with this simple tool. Too many.

I hate war.

Out across the valley, a thick pillar of smoke twists into the sky, grinding into the clouds, blocking the golden sunrise with a greasy black smear. Ashes fall across the fields and trees and porch , throwing a thin layer of pale gray onto everything, a snowfall of destruction. One of the flakes lands on my right hand, and I wring it away. The ashes belong to the dead, _are_ the dead, and I do not wish to hold these gray smudges, the only remains of ten thousand people. I want to scream, but I cannot.

I must maintain my composure. I must remain strong for the civilians, because I am a commando. I am the model of Asari strength. I am…

Delicate. Fragile. Mortal.

I am afraid. And I don't know what to do.

The human male is the only member of the family who still stands on the porch. He hasn't moved for three hours, since the ship destroyed Asa. His children and his wife have all retreated to the house, reeling from shock, staring ahead with dry, numb eyes. I don't know how to speak to them, because my words have left me.

"How well do you know your neighbors?" Arden finally asks the man, keeping her voice low. Her expression is fathomless, simultaneously placid and distraught. Deep purple markings feather the area around her eyes, and normally they add a certain mysticism to her face. Today, in the golden glow of the sunrise, they more closely resemble tears.

"What is that supposed to mean?" the man rasps.

"We will need to consolidate our resources if we are to survive the coming days and weeks," Arden says. "And your neighbors, and their weapons, and their food and water, are valuable resources. Invaluable, even. We need an alliance."

"We aren't soldiers," he murmurs, eyes wide with disbelief.

Arden straightens her posture, and her fingers tighten around her assault rifle. "This is a matter of survival. We are all soldiers now."

I cannot describe the sadness in the man's stare, because he knows that Arden speaks the truth. He knows what the future holds for his family if they don't fight back, and what will happen if they do. Either way, there are no winners in war.

"Alright," he whispers. He turns away, blue eyes fixed on the contaminated sky, and says, "The vas Jespar family is your best bet. Roko and I go hunting sometimes, and I can tell you that they are packing some serious heat. He and his oldest son know how to shoot well, as do his wife and daughter. They have a younger son, too. I don't know if he can fight." He pauses. "Holly, my oldest daughter, can take you to them. I would prefer to stay with my family."

"Thank you," Arden says, bowing her head. "That is more than enough."

"I'll go with you, too," I say, standing up from the edge of the porch. I wish to do something other than mope and reflect on my own impotence.

Arden nods to me. "Very well. Let's see if Holly is willing to guide us."

We find Holly sitting alone at the dining table, her eyes downcast as she traces circles on the table's surface, humming an airy tune that I don't recognize.

"Holly," I say, stopping next to her.

She looks up at me, her hands freezing in place. "Yes?"

"You know where the vas Jespar family lives, correct?"

"Yes…"

"Would you mind taking us to their house?"

Surprised, she narrows her eyes. "Isn't that a little dangerous? I mean, there are Krogan wandering around the countryside, and I don't know about you, but I enjoy living. Taking a trip to my neighbor's house during Krogan occupation is probably going to attract the wrong kind of attention."

"Yes. It is dangerous," Arden says. "But the Krogan will eventually find and kill you, even if you don't come with us. Your only chance - no, _our_ only chance - is to fight back, or escape. The best way to do that is to rally your neighbors. And we will both protect you on the excursion." She gestures to me, and I nod.

Holly places a strand of blond, wavy hair back behind her ear, and sighs. "Alright. Nothing to lose but my life, I suppose. I'll go with you." She rises from her chair, and looks over to her mother, who sits on the couch, overseeing the young children's activities. "Are you okay with this?"

The woman gives her a stricken expression, and raises her hands questioningly. "I need to stay here with Max and Ryan and Aethya. And I don't think your father wants to leave, either. I want you to be safe, but… I think we are far past safe. The commandos' logic makes sense, and I trust your judgment. If you think it's best to go with them, then I can't stop you. Your father said it was alright?"

Arden answers, "He is the one who recommended that Holly guide us."

"If he's okay with it, I'm okay with it," the woman says, though her tone is rather unconvincing. "Their house isn't too far, anyways. Just… be careful, Holly." She looks to her daughter, and a reassuring smile flickers across her lips.

"Then let's go," Holly murmurs, yawning, and when we step into the sunlight, I see that the dark circles under her eyes are very deep. I wonder if she slept at all last night.

Holly follows a narrow animal trail, the green glow of sunlight filtering through the trees and alighting on her delicate, freckled features. Arden and I both walk on either side of her, almost like guards. Perhaps that's what we are. She is now our responsibility.

We take care to keep our footfalls light and soundless, though that is easier said than done, because the ground is covered in a thick layer of dead leaves and branches. Keeping vigil, we train our eyes and ears on the forest around us: the birds, the trees, the wind, and the soft clatter of our own armor. I notice nothing that could warrant concern. Ignoring the hazy orange smoke that fills every corner of the sky, it almost looks like a normal morning. How strange.

Five minutes pass. Through the trees looms a single-story house, much smaller than the first we encountered. Next to it sits a greenhouse, brimming with extravagant plant life, though I cannot identify any of the species.

Holly stops, and Arden and I both do the same. "So, I should probably knock first, since they know me. I'll let them know that you two are cool, then you can explain your case to them."

"Sounds good," I say. Arden also agrees.

Walking up to the white front door, Holly pauses, and takes a deep breath. She then knocks, three hesitant raps, and says, "It's Holly Beaumont, your neighbor. Please don't shoot me."

Sure enough, the door opens to reveal a Quarian male, standing probably around six and a half feet tall, brandishing a hunting rifle in one hand, and he is enough to inspire fear in this Asari commando. He looks to Holly with two luminous, fully silver eyes that mark all Quarians, and then looks to us. He doesn't lower his weapon. "Good to see you, Holly," he drawls. "Glad you're alive. Now, do you mind telling me who those two are?"

"Reinforcements, I think," she says, giving a small shrug. "There are four more commandos staying at our house right now. They were headed towards Asa, but… well, you saw what happened."

"Yeah, we saw," the Quarian says, finally lowering the barrel of his gun to the ground. "So what brings you my humble abode?"

Holly sidesteps, and gestures to us. "I think they can explain better than I can."

Arden nods, and steps forward. "I believe we stand a much higher chance of surviving this invasion if we combine our resources: weapons, medical supplies, water… you get the picture. It is always better to have many capable fighters, whether it be frontal or stealth ground combat."

He shifts his weight, a pensive expression on his face. "What, you mean like a civilian militia?"

"Yes, sir."

"What's the catch, then?"

"Only that you fight alongside us when the Krogan decide to advance upon your homes," Arden says, "and that you share your extra weapons and ammunition with capable fighters."

"Uh-huh."

"In return, we will fight to defend you and your family, and your home, if necessary."

The Quarian gives a light smile, and says, "Well, I've never been one to go quiet into that good night. Fighting back is the only realistic option, at least if we want to live to see the next month. And I do have more guns than my family needs, so I'd be willing to lend you some of them. As long as the people using my weapons know how to use them properly." He nods to himself, then lifts his gaze to meet ours. "I like that idea. Seems reasonable." Looking back into his home, he says, "Let me ask my family what they think. I'll be back in a moment."

He closes the door on us, and I am left to anxiously wonder how his family will react. Arden speaks the truth, though; we need to fight together, or we will die alone.

"I think he likes you," Holly says cheerily.

"Oh?" I ask. "And what makes you say that?"

"He didn't shoot you by the end of the conversation."

I snicker, and watch the black silhouette of a bird as it flies through the orange atmosphere. "Sounds just like the type of person we need."


	4. Third Sister

**I do not own Mass Effect.**

* * *

I stare out at the morning sky, still tainted by the yellow smog that clings to the atmosphere. The ruins of Asa still send up tendrils of smoke, though most of the fires have died out.

The Beaumont mother guards the two new hunting rifles that sit on the dining room table, courtesy of the vas Jespar family, on behalf of our new alliance. Mr. Beaumont hadn't been kidding; Roko vas Jespar has at least twenty-five rifles, pistols, and shotguns, and enough ammunition to safely last for the next two months of fighting. I am impressed by his preparedness, to say the least.

Tier fiddles beside me with the radio transceiver, programming it to play back recorded messages.

"Any success?" I ask.

"Yeah," she mutters, tightening one of the screws. "Almost done. The radio has no time-delay, though. So we're going to have to run. Fast."

I sigh. "Fantastic."

Arden still believes that a few commandos from the Referendum are alive, and to reach them we shall use the long-broadcasting radio. Unfortunately, we fear that the Krogan will track our signal, so we cannot allow the message to be broadcast from this house. To protect ourselves and the civilians, Tier and I must take this radio up to the highest local mountain peak, about twelve miles away, and set it to play the encoded message to the surrounding mountain ranges and valleys.

Per Arden's orders, only Tier and I will be going on this mission. Tier knows how the transceiver works, and she is the one who programmed the message to play on a loop, so she will be needed if anything goes wrong. And I am the most capable biotic in my squadron; I am Tier's protection. If any more than two commandoes go on this mission, our chances of being detected by the Krogan rise exponentially. So it will just be us.

Giovanna, Silera, Hazibelle, and Arden will stay with the families, to defend them if the Krogan decide to advance through the countryside.

I lift my backpack, filled with enough food and water to sustain Tier and myself for exactly one day. She delicately places the modified transceiver into her pack, and slings it over her shoulder. "Let's go," she says.

We walk out onto the porch, where we find Arden and Hazibelle, discussing the plan of action.

"We are leaving," I tell Arden.

Our commander nods to us, and looks behind her, to the mountains. "Mrs. Beaumont tells me that there is a trail leading from the base of the mountain to the peak, and it will take approximately fourteen hours for you to complete the task and return here." She turns back to us. "Keep your heads low. We can't afford to lose you, too. Furthermore, if events lead you to believe that completing this mission will lead to your deaths, ditch the mission and return here. Your lives are priority. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am," Tier and I respond in unison. I understand Arden's reasoning; if none of the other commandos from the Referendum survived the crash, and we die to send out this signal, our deaths would be in vain. In any case, I appreciate our commander's respect for our lives. At this point, such a trait has become a rarity.

Mrs. Beaumont stands at the edge of the porch, staring at the smoke-laden valley. "This road," she says, pointing to the path that runs in front of her house, "will take you to the Third Sister. That is the mountain you seek. It's one and a half kilometers high, making it the tallest in our locale. There will be a sign on the right side of the road, labeled 'Third Sister Manzanita Trail'. You'll want to take that one. It's the most direct path."

"Understood," I say, inclining my head. "Thank you."

The woman waves her hand dismissively. "Just want to help. And… good luck."

"Again, thank you," I say, leaping down the five porch steps and landing softly at the bottom, the impact cushioned by a layer of decaying plant matter. Readjusting the backpack around my shoulders, I activate my assault rifle's safety catch, then hitch the weapon onto the magnetic strap on my back. Hopefully we won't encounter any Krogan, but if we do, at least we'll be prepared.

Tier walks up along beside me, and we start on our journey.

Mrs. Beaumont was rather generous in calling this narrow path a 'road'. Trees loom over us, blocking the sunlight, and through the leaves there are clouds, passing across the sky like white ships on a blue sea, propelled by violent convection currents in the upper atmosphere. In front of us, strips of grass grow between trenches that have been pressed into the dirt by years' and years' worth of tire tracks. Brushing past us is a soft breeze, carrying a faint whiff of nauseating smoke. I choose to ignore the scent.

"How long will it take to set up the transceiver?" I ask, suspicious. I do not wish to stay in one location for too long, just waiting to be killed by some passing Krogan.

Tier looks up at the sky, thinking. "Three minutes at the maximum." She looks to me, and the naturally crimson markings that decorate her cheeks and forehead catch the sunlight, a stark contrast to her silvery blue skin.

"Just three?"

Smiling, she replies, "Of course. My father was a Salarian, after all."

"I never knew that. Why didn't you tell me before?"

"Because it's not important. And it never came up in normal conversation."

This is why I like Tier. Extraneous information means nothing to her.

Ten miles and two hours later, we come across the Third Sister Manzanita Trail sign, just as the sun reaches its zenith. We peel off onto the narrow, rugged trail, and within minutes I am sweating from exertion, hoping that the rest of the trail isn't inclined so steeply.

We climb higher, and the sun descends from the center of the sky, putting the light source behind us. The trees begin to disappear as the elevation rises, and I can feel a sunburn starting on my crest. I pull my backpack up on top of my head, to provide shade, and I feel my weapon lightly striking my back, following the tempo of my stride. On this trail, smooth black stones poke out of the faded earth, compacted by hundreds upon thousands of feet hiking to the top of the mountain and back, and I wonder how old this trail is. Above us, the clouds have vanished from the clear blue sky.

The trail finally levels out, and I take a deep breath, sweat beads rolling down the sides of my face. We have nearly reached the top of the mountain.

I look around us, and nearly have a panic attack. There are absolutely no trees here, only rocky crags and patches of yellow grass, rippling in the slight breeze. We have no cover.

Tier unshoulders her pack, places it on the ground, and pulls out the transceiver. She sets the black box on a bed of grass, pulling up three silver antennae, pressing a silver button on the side, and she runs preliminary diagnostics, testing the strength of the signal and the dependability of the battery. Nodding with satisfaction, she inserts a chip into the side of the box, and installs both the radio transmission and the program that will set it to repeat.

"This message will broadcast in a three-hundred kilometer radius," Tier says, "factoring in the curvature of Alcmene and the elevation of this mountain. Hopefully the other commandos will hear this." She makes one final adjustment, then leans back and admires her handiwork.

Crackling to life, Arden's voice plays on the transceiver, reciting the coordinates of our current location.

"**Primary**: Kirin, Ipsen, Langsam, Rho. **Secondary**: Alta: Nine, Nine, Zero, Eight. Opal: One, Five, Seven, Zero. Crush: Eight, Six, Nine, Four, Two. Laureth: Four, Five, Six, Two, Eight, Nine. **Tertiary: **Uele: Two, Six, Nine. Beta-North, Vega-South, Circe-West, Golem-East. This message is set to repeat."

'Kirin' is the name of our squadron. 'Ipsen' means to ignore every third number in each individual string, while 'Langsam' means to ignore every string of numbers preceded by a monosyllabic word, and 'Rho' means that the given coordinates are measured from the equator, rather than from the north or south poles. 'Alta' means that the following numbers are measured north of the equator, while 'Opal' designates our elevation. 'Crush' is an extraneous string of numbers, meant to throw off the Krogan. 'Laureth' means that the following numbers are measured east on the horizontal planetary axis, measured from Alcmene's Prime Meridian. 'Uele' means that the following numbers are statistics, the number of dead followed by the number of living in our squadron. Beta, Vega, Circe, and Golem are all completely meaningless. Essentially, the message breaks down as follows:

"This is Kirin squad. We are currently located nine hundred ninety-eight kilometers north of the equator, and four thousand, five hundred, twenty-eight kilometers east of the Prime Meridian. Our elevation is one hundred and fifty meters above sea level. We have two dead commandos, six still alive. This message is set to repeat."

I hope that the other Asari, if there are any, can remember all of the code rules. It took me three years to memorize them all, and even then they occasionally still give me trouble.

Tier does her best to hide the black box among the yellow grass, and as soon as she is done, we set off running back down the mountain. This transmission will definitely draw the Krogans' attention, and we do not want them to catch us.

I use biotics to lessen my mass as we descend from the mountain top, in case I trip on the steeply inclined trail. I would like to keep all of my teeth in my skull.

We run and run and run, and the setting sun casts an orange glow across everything, the colors deepened by the lingering smoke. We round one of the bends, and my heart drops as two Krogan come into our view, trudging up the mountain, eyes downcast. Judging by the size of their crests, neither of them are over a hundred years old.

The shorter one, a light-skinned Krogan with a black crest, notices us first. He looks to us with unsettling, bright green eyes, and stops dead in his tracks. His companion, who has yellow skin and a deep red crest, takes notice. He looks at us, too, and I can see fear in his gray eyes.

Strange. I thought that Krogan couldn't experience fear.

The one with the black crest raises his weapon, a long-barreled shotgun, and shouts something that I can't understand. Before he can fire, I telepathically take hold of the gun and rip it out of his hands, sending it over the side of the mountain. He looks to his empty hands, shocked. I send a sphere of warp energy at him, and as it slams into his chest, I can see the effect immediately manifest itself across his entire body. He screams, and I know that it hurts him, but the warp won't kill him. No. He is a Krogan, and in order to kill him, I will need to shatter all of his bones and rupture every cell in his body.

Beside me, Tier holds her sniper rifle, her sights trained on the one with the red crest. She fires, and the bullet ricochets off of one of his spikes, burying itself in a nearby tree, but the impact sends the Krogan sprawling backwards, slamming into the ground and clutching his face with two armored hands.

I wrap myself in a biotic field, pouring energy into the charge, and aim for the black-crested Krogan. I race forward at blinding speed, and hear myself slam into his chest with a dull crunch, his armor crumpling under the impact, sending a shockwave throughout his body. He staggers back, and collapses in a heap.

Unhitching my assault rifle, I step over to the other Krogan, shove the barrel of my gun up against the soft area on his neck, between his crest and his armor, and I pull the trigger. He convulses twice, then relaxes and sprawls across the ground, crimson pouring from his body.

"CORA!" Tier screams.

I turn to her, but too late. The black-crested Krogan rams into me, throwing me off of the cliff. As I fall through the air, a shimmering field of blue energy forms around his body, and I pull him towards me. He jerks forwards, following me in my descent, and he lets loose a deep, piercing scream.

There are a forty meters between me and the ground.

I use my biotics to lessen my own mass and slow my velocity. I am still falling too fast, though. The Krogan speeds past me, screaming the entire way, and I watch him slam into the ground, far too fast to have survived. I brace for impact and pray to the Goddess that I will not suffer the same fate.

I strike the ground, the darkness swallows everything around me.


	5. Scavenger

**I do not own Mass Effect.**

* * *

A gentle hand presses against the side of my neck, testing my pulse.

"Cora?" a voice ventures. It sounds afraid, but I can sense hope, too.

I reluctantly open my eyes, and through the dark mist I see Tier's face hovering above mine, her face dyed an unusual shade of copper by the setting sun. Fumbling around on the ground for a handhold, I mean to tell her that I'm alright, but my words jumble together and turn into an incoherent mess.

"What?"

I concentrate on my vocalization, and manage to utter, "I'm okay."

"Uh… you sure about that?"

There is a gash on my forehead, I can feel it burning now, accompanied by a thin trail of my own purple blood. "No, I am not sure." I shake my head in an attempt to clear away the disorienting haze that clouds my vision. Everything is… jumbled.

"Did you break anything?"

No part of me screams in agony, so I answer, "I don't think so."

"Here," Tier says, wrapping her arms around my waist and shoulder. "Try to stand up."

Tier is much shorter than I am, but she manages to hold me steady. I pull my feet underneath me and struggle to stand, carefully righting myself and regaining my balance. Tier releases me, and I nod to her. "Thank you."

"So you're okay?"

"Yes."

Before I can react, Tier slaps me across the face, hard enough to send me staggering back. I touch the side of my face in angry surprise, eyes wide and jaw clenched. "The hell was that for?"

Her gray eyes flash with a certain hostility that I don't think I've ever seen before. "How hard, exactly, did you hit your head on the way down?" she demands, keeping her voice low. "You know full well what _the hell _that was for. Rules of Krogan Warfare 101: Never get within three meters of a Krogan, five if you can help it. And what do you do, idiot that you are? You hit him with a biotic charge! You physically cannot get closer to a Krogan than when you BIOTICALLY CHARGE THEM. I know that you're smarter than that, Cora, and you're lucky you aren't dead right now!"

She turns away from me, clenching her fists. I didn't realize she would be so angry with me.

"I'm sorry…" I venture, looking down to the ground sheepishly, unable to meet her writhing gaze, my face still smarting from the impact of her hand. My pride is more hurt than anything, though. "It wasn't my best plan."

"I sure hope not," she says, looking back to me, frustration etched into her features.

I break eye contact with her, my embarrassment getting the best of me. I pick my assault rifle up off the ground and hitch it onto my back, and my attention turns to the fifty-meter cliff beside us. "How did you get down here so fast, anyways?"

"You aren't the only one who knows how to use biotics," Tier quips. "I hovered down. And unlike you, I managed to stay conscious for the entire ride."

"Technically, I _was_ conscious for the entire ride. It was the spectacular failure of a dismount that gave me trouble."

"And almost got you killed."

"Yes, but here I stand. Still breathing."

"If only everyone could be so lucky," Tier mutters, slinging her sniper rifle back over her shoulder. "Anyways, we should probably leave before any more Krogan show up."

"Hold on," I say, my eyes wandering through the trees, searching for the shotgun that I ripped from the Krogan's grasp. It has to be around here somewhere.

A couple meters away I find it lying on a bed of decaying plant matter, surrounded by broken branches and torn leaves. I look up to the sky, and see the hole that the shotgun ripped in the tree canopy during its descent. I heft the weapon up, and determine it to be a Graal Spike Thrower.

"What is this thing made of, solid lead?" I ask, the question directed at no one in particular. I flip it over to inspect the other side, thoughtfully tracing the black serial number emblazoned on the barrel. "This is an ancient model."

Tier walks up beside me, eyeing the modified shotgun. "It's effective, though. That's why they still use it."

"Good thing our Krogan friend didn't get a chance," I say, walking over to the body of the black-crested one. Or what's left of him.

He's been… _shattered_ by the fall. Shards of his own crest have embedded themselves in his skull, each puncture wound accompanied by a waterfall of red. I cannot recognize his face. Red canyons have split open across all exposed patches of his flesh, obviously caused by his impact with the ground. His armor has imploded, and now more closely resembles torn scrap metal than protective gear. I look away from him, holding my hand over my mouth.

_He is the enemy. I did this in self-defense. He is the enemy. If not him, then it would have been me._

I mentally repeat this hollow mantra many times, but it doesn't sink in. I don't believe my own lie.

I force myself to look again at his mangled body, and I spot his ammo-pack, hanging off of his left arm. Picking my way across the ground, I focus only on the ammo, ignoring the rest of him completely. As I kneel down, the disgustingly metallic scent of warm Krogan blood assaults my nostrils, the taste catching on the back of my tongue. I choke, and wretch in a vain attempt to expel the smell from the back of my throat. Without delay, I rip the pack off of his arm, and hastily scramble away from the body.

Upon opening one box, I count twenty-four shells and eight thermal clips. There are two other boxes, each of them full, and the shotgun itself is presumably fully loaded, which translates to eighty-seven shells in total. Not bad.

"Looks like we've got a new shotgun," I say, placing the boxes of ammunition into my backpack.

"Great," Tier says coolly, her arms crossed.

I rummage among our supplies, searching for some sustenance. "Do you want anything?" I ask, ripping open a protein pack and pouring some of the freeze-dried beans out onto my hand.

"No."

I withdraw the other protein pack and shake the bag, rattling the freeze-dried contents. My attempts as garnering Tier's attention prove successful: her gaze passes from me over to the bag, and she reluctantly holds out her hand. I grin and place the pack in the center of her palm.

"I'm still mad a you," she mutters, tossing a handful of food into her mouth.

"I am aware of this. But you must understand, the idea looks a lot stupider in hindsight." I attach the shotgun to the magnetic strap on the other side of my back, and I realize that it's a lot heavier than I thought it would be. I position the backpack to hang off of my right shoulder, out of the way of either weapon. I feel like a beast of burden.

It takes fifteen minutes for us to return to the trail, during which time the sun sets, leaving a pink glow in the now-cloudless sky. The gash on my forehead sends a dull throb across my entire mind, and I rub my temples to keep the pain at bay, hoping that the fall didn't seriously damage my brain. A lone bird calls into the sunset-laden landscape, a chillingly low whistle, enough to send shivers up my spine. It almost sounds like a lament. Out of paranoia, I up my pace to a slow jog, and Tier does the same, but I return to a walk when I realize that jogging only exacerbates my headache.

At some point on our return trip, I feel a strange sensation trickling down the side of my face, and quickly realize that the gash on my forehead has opened up again. I press my hand against the injury, hoping to stop the blood.

"You alright?" Tier asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I'm fine," I respond. "The cut on my forehead is bleeding again. Nothing serious."

"The Beaumonts probably have some bandages lying around."

I wince. "Yeah. Probably." We still have six kilometers to walk until we reach their house, though.

The following hour and a half pass silently as we clumsily follow the pitch-black trail, unable to discern in this darkness whether or not we're following the correct path. Fireflies float in and out of the trees, and I am captivated by the little glowing orbs. Do they utilize eezo, creating miniature Mass Effect fields to stay afloat while simultaneously producing light? No, that can't be right. Earth has no naturally-occurring eezo, I remember now. And anyways, if the fireflies used Mass Effect fields, they'd be blue, not gold. I wonder how these strange little bugs work.

We finally reach the house, a black silhouette against the star-riddled sky. None of the lights are on.

Someone is standing out on the porch, and I stop dead in my tracks when I hear them chamber the rounds of their assault rifle.

"Identify yourselves," they say into the darkness. I recognize Arden's voice.

"Don't shoot," I say, keeping my voice as low as possible. "It's Tier and Cora."

"Thank the Goddess," Arden says, her voice relieved. "Congratulations on a successful mission. The message has been broadcasting all evening."

I sigh, taking care to not trip over the porch steps. "Thanks, commander." I tentatively grope around for the door, careful to not hit my hand against the house in this darkness. How did the commander even know where to aim her gun? I can't see anything out here.

Finally, I happen upon the door handle and enter the house. Exactly one light is on, and it is barely brighter that the outside. All of the windows have thick black curtains or blankets hung in front of them, to keep any light from escaping and to prevent the Krogan from finding the house. Strange. I didn't notice those curtains before.

I am surprised to see three new Humans sitting at the table: a father, a mother, and a young daughter. They all have darker skin than the other Humans, and the mother's hair hangs around her shoulders in black, bouncy ringlets. The father is bald, and slightly overweight, while their daughter is a slip of a girl, built like a bird, with long hair similar to her mother's.

"Hello," I say to them, though the word sounds weaker than I intended. The mother and father tentatively nod to me, though the daughter fails to acknowledge my existence.

Silera, who sits on the couch, turns her attention to me, and winces. "You look like shit."

I feel the side of my head, where blood has crusted up around the cut. "I fell."

Silera raises her eyebrows and averts her gaze, as if my appearance is a personal embarrassment to her. I glare at the back of her head and force myself to stay silent, for fear of saying something that I'll regret.

I turn to Mr. Beaumont, who sits on one of the cushioned chairs, and ask, "Where are we keeping the weapons? I have a shotgun that I don't need."

He gestures to the dining room. "I believe Hazibelle is taking care of the weapons."

I unhitch the Graal Spike Thrower, walk into the dining room, and hand the weapon to Hazibelle. "Got it from a Krogan. I don't need this." I then reach into my backpack, take out all of the extra shells, and place them in her waiting hands.

"Excellent," she says, setting the safety hitch on and leaning the gun against the wall. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," I mumble.

Making my way to the kitchen, I find a hand towel and, with the intent of finally washing my face, I place it under the faucet and turn the handle. To my surprise, no water comes out. Just a gurgle, then an empty hiss. Are we out of water?

I hear footsteps clicking on the hallway tiles, and turn to see Mrs. Beaumont enter the kitchen. She takes one look at me, and her jaw drops. "What happened to your face?!"

"It's not serious," I say, but she refuses to believe me.

"_That_ is not okay!" she says, walking up to me and leaning closer to inspect my wound.

"Really, I'm fine. I just need to wash my face. What happened to the water?"

Without answering, she grabs my hand and leads me down the hall to the bathroom, where two little white candles have been lit and placed on the granite countertop, casting a weak, flickering light across the bathtub, which is full to the very brim and threatening to slosh over the sides. Taking the washcloth from my hand, Mrs. Beaumont dips it in the clear, fresh water, then hands it back to me. The washcloth is now very, very cold.

I dabble the wet cloth on my forehead, clearing away the flaky blood and dyeing the fabric a dark purple. I am careful to keep from re-opening the gash.

"Our water came from Asa, so while you were up on the mountain, we decided to collect as much water as we could, before it ran out," Mrs. Beaumont explains, gesturing to the full bathtub. "Don't worry; I cleaned the tub before we filled it."

I nod, and notice a number of cups and buckets lining the floor and the shelves, reaching out into the hallway. They are all full of water. "Good job thinking ahead. I don't mean to change the subject, but who're the new faces sitting at the table?"

"Those are the Tulaines. We offered to let them stay here, and they accepted."

I firmly press the cloth against my wound, closing my eyes and enjoying the cold relief that it provides. "Glad they want to be a part of the alliance," I murmur, suddenly realizing the complete exhaustion that weighs on my every cell. It's been three days since I last slept. _Three days._

A knock on the doorway draws me out of my lull, and I am surprised to see Arden standing in the hallway, holding a near-empty packet of medigel. She offers it to me, and says, "It's not much, but it should be enough to seal the wound."

I didn't think my injury was severe enough to warrant the use of medigel, but apparently my commander begs to differ. "Thank you," I say as I take the gift, completely baffled.

She inclines her head. "You are welcome. We all need to be in fighting condition, and we have enough supplies to spare this much. Thank you for completing the mission I asked, and unless you have any further inquiries, I bid you goodnight. You've earned some rest."

"No questions, commander. Goodnight to you, as well."

She nods and takes her leave, and Mrs. Beaumont follows her out into the hallway, leaving me alone.

I turn my attention to the packet, from which I squeeze the last few droplets of medigel, and carefully spread the clear substance across the gash, using the bathroom mirror as a guide. The relief is immediate. A soothing numbness spreads across the injury, and I watch as the epithelial layers fold over themselves, sealing the skin with a light, small scar. My headache disappears, as well.

I love modern medicine.

Crumpling the silver packet in my hand, I throw it in the small gray trash bin under the counter. I lean heavily against the granite and take a huge yawn. With my headache gone, there is nothing to keep me from passing out right here.

Through sheer force of will, I walk out into the hallway and stumble into the living room, where I flop onto the couch and practically melt into the cushions.

Dear, dear sleep, how I have missed you.

* * *

**A/N: I hope everyone has/had a Merry Christmas/Happy Hanukkah/Happy Kwanzaa/Winter Holiday/Whatever you celebrate this time of year.  
**

**And I would like to thank _R.J. Ames_ and _Dec21. _**

**I greatly appreciate your input and support!**


	6. Nightmare

**I do not own Mass Effect.**

* * *

I shuffle along through the black haze, stumbling through the darkness, my bare feet scraping across sharp stones that cut into my flesh, leaving a trail of blood in my wake. Above me, the moon hangs in the sky, surrounded by a sea of stars, thrown across the sky in random patterns, indescribably beautiful and intricate. Neither the moon nor the stars provide any light, though, and I am left to wander blindly across the landscape.

Around my shoulders is a translucent white shawl, fluttering in a cold, harsh wind, whipping against my eyes and my neck. I try to scream into the torrent, but no sound escapes my mouth. The gale intensifies, thrashing my face and my hands and my chest, and it knocks me off of my feet. I tumble across the ground, and the sharpened rocks dig into every square inch of my exposed skin. Crumbling, tumbling, falling, bleeding. I slip under the surface and plummet through an empty, humid space, until I crash through a body of water. Bubbles surround me in a whirl of light, disorienting and incredibly loud.

Forcing my way to the air, I push past the black water and break the surface with a gasp. I spin around and look for any means of escape, but this ocean stretches past every horizon, running forever in all directions.

A clawed hand clamps down on my ankle, dragging me down, down, down into the abyss. I thrash against my descent, but my efforts are futile. The translucent shawl floats up around my shoulders and obscures my view of the water's surface, so far above me, as it falls further and further away… impossibly far. Bubbles escape from my mouth, and escaping with them is the last hope of my own survival. I am going to drown here, at the bottom of an unnamed ocean.

The hand leaves my ankle, and in my sudden liberation I flounder for any traction, to reach the surface and breathe… but I keep sinking to the sea floor, where I will die.

Out of the dark water, the hand finds itself wrapped around my neck, crushing the arteries and windpipe, squeezing the soft flesh until it ceased to function. I finally catch sight of the face that this hand belongs to. Horror explodes within me like shattered glass when I discover that this claw belongs to the black-crested Krogan, his bright green eyes burning a hole through me, searching my soul and not liking what he found. His claw shifts, and a deep crack sounds from where my skull meets my spine.

I try to pry his hand away, but my body will not respond. Black stars encroach on my eyes, narrowing my field of vision until only the Krogan's glowing eyes remain, burning and seething with eons and eons of ceaseless hatred. And then they disappear, too, and I am falling, falling, falling…

With a jolt, I awaken to find myself still sitting on the couch with my arms folded across my chest and my head lying on the arm rest. My entire body is tingly and numb, as if every muscle has fallen asleep all at once. I lift my right arm and flex my hand in front of my face, testing the fingers and tendons to make sure they still work properly. I am still alive, aren't I? It was just a dream?

Then I remember where I am: fighting a near-hopeless battle on a largely irrelevant planet. Trading one nightmare for another.

No, I cannot allow myself to think in that manner, because I must remain strong for my commander, my unit, and the civilians. And we most certainly haven't lost yet.

I rise from the cushion, the feeling in my chest and legs slowly returning in waves of prickling needles. I stomp my feet on the ground to expedite the process, and in do doing I attract the attention of the two dark-haired children and the young Asari.

"What are you doing?" the dark-haired girl asks.

"My legs fell asleep," I reply, still stomping on the flower-patterned carpet. "So I'm trying to wake them up."

"Oh."

The boy, who's name I think is Ryan, looks to me with a mischievous glimmer in his black eyes. "How old are you, Asari?"

I freeze mid-stomp and lower my leg to the ground, suspiciously wondering what kind of designs he has on this conversation. "I am two hundred and ten years old. Why do you ask?"

"Can I call you Old Lady, then?"

Typical.

I heave a sigh, knowing that no matter how I answer, the kid's going to call me whatever he wants. "If you wish. But I prefer the name Cora, since it's the name my mother gave me. And by the standards of my species, I am still a Maiden."

"I'm still going to call you Old Lady Cora."

I shift my weight and cross my arms. "Well that's just fine, Small Kid Ryan."

"I am not a small kid!" he says, puffing out his chest and furrowing his eyebrows with juvenile frustration.

A small grin tugs at the corners of my mouth. "And I'm not an old lady."

He opens his mouth to respond, but instead he narrows his eyes and lowers his contemplative gaze to the ground. After a moment, he looks to me with a knowing smile. "Point taken, Old Lady Cora."

Smirking, I shake my head and head into the kitchen, where Mr. and Mrs. Beaumont are cooking breakfast, flipping omelets and chopping onions and hashing potatoes. A delicious, savory smell rises from the stovetop, accompanied by the hiss of sizzling oils and the clank of spatulas against stainless steel. The amount of food they have amassed is staggering, although they do have to feed sixteen people, including the baby.

I sit on one of the dining room chairs, and unhitch my assault rifle, placing it on the table. I actually forgot to take it off before I fell asleep. At least I had flipped the safety catch, but still. My own obliviousness is astounding.

From outside I hear a shout, and Hazibelle walks in the door, holding a large box of food in her arms, obviously using biotics to manipulate and reduce the box's mass.

"What's that?" I ask.

"Oh, you're finally up?" she responds benignly, setting the container down in the kitchen and dusting off her hands. "If you really must know, we're moving all of the Tulaines' resources over here, which includes food and medicine and pillows and whatever other stuff they want to keep. Within reason."

I lean against the table and poise myself to stand up. "I'm guessing that Arden wants my help?"

"You guess correctly," she deadpans. "Unless you want to stay here, lounging around while the civilians feed you grapes and fan you with palm fronds."

I scoff, and once again hitch my assault rifle to my back. "Well, when you say it like that, it almost sounds like we're on vacation."

We walk out into the golden glow of morning sunlight, and Hazibelle cracks a wry smile. "With the white sand beaches, clean blue ocean, and let's not forget the smoldering heap of rubble that used to be a city, what's not to love about Alcmene?"

"The invading enemy army is what sold me, really."

"That so? I thought you enjoyed falling off of mountains."

Throwing my head back, I let out a laugh. "That was one time, and I can safely say that I have no interest in taking up base jumping."

Hazibelle rolls her eyes. "Uh huh. If you say so."

After twenty minutes, we arrive at a one-story home, painted a dark shade of gray and in possession of a wraparound porch, similar to the Beaumont home.

Mr. Tulaine and his wife stand in the doorway, supervising what items are taken and what items are left behind.

"No, no," Mr. Tulaine cries, pulling a box from Giovanna's grasp. "I'll take this one by myself."

Giovanna holds her hands up defensively, and a definite blush works its way into her lavender skin. "Sorry, sir," she mumbles. Taking a few steps back, she looks for some other activity to occupy herself with. Giovanna is by far the youngest in my squad, at only ninety six years old. Sometimes I get the impression that our combined experience intimidates her, especially since she graduated near the top of her class at the Academy for Biotically Gifted Individuals. I don't think she's used to being small fry.

In the kitchen, Arden has amassed a huge pile of food and medical supplies, each box bigger than the next. Crackers, fruit, band-aids, pillows, blankets, vegetables, milk, meat… even toilet paper. There are enough supplies to last at least four days, even between all sixteen people currently residing at the Beaumont residence.

"Are these ready to go?" I ask, tentatively reaching for one of the many crates.

Arden gives the boxes a cursory glance and nods to me, then returns to clearing out the cabinet with the help of the young Tulaine girl.

A blue field of energy works its way around two of the larger boxes, reducing their mass by half, and I pick the stack up by the bottom. I turn to Giovanna and Hazibelle, who will accompany me back to the Beaumont home, boxes piled high in each of their arms.

"Alright, we're leaving," I tell Arden as we walk out the door.

From the bowels of the house, I hear her reply, "Very well. I shall see you back at the house."

We work our way into the trees, and an unsettling calm falls over the forest. The air stagnates, and the humidity gives everything an oppressive quality. I wish I had washed my armor and taken that shower before the water supply died.

"So… the weather," Giovanna says, in an attempt to interject some humor into this humorless atmosphere.

I snicker, and turn back to look at her. "Rather warm, isn't it?"

"Yeah." She lowers her gaze to the ground. "My homeworld is like this all the time, except for one month at wintertime, where it's absolutely freezing."

"No wonder you left," Hazibelle says with mock disgust. "Must've been horrible. I bet there were bugs, too."

Giovanna shrugs. "Actually, no, there were just-"

I hear a small, bone-shattering pop, and a galaxy of blue blood explodes from the side of her head. Her eyes go blank, and the blue field disappears from the boxes she was carrying and the contents fall to the forest floor in an unceremonious heap. She slips to the ground without so much as a whimper.

I then hear the thunderous roar of a gunshot, from at least half a mile away. Sniper. "Shit."

Hazibelle and I are immediately back-to-back, searching the surrounding forest for the murderer. Unsurprisingly, we see no one.

"I got the barriers," Hazibelle says as a reinforcing biotic shield encases her armor, then mine.

"And I got the bubble shield," I reply, holding my arms up, cultivating the spherical wall of energy that potentially separates our fate from Giovanna's. Dear Goddess, please let this work.

Leaning down to Giovanna's body, Hazibelle searches for breathing, for a pulse, for anything that indicates life. With a heavy voice, she says, "Giovanna's gone."

A weight drops on my heart. I hadn't expected any different. But this still stings. Unlike Juniper or Lenie, I actually knew Giovanna. I spent the last three months on assignment with her. And now… a single piece of high-velocity metal had torn her from this world.

"Where are they?" Hazibelle asks.

"I know as much as you do," I quip, perhaps more harshly than I should.

As she opens her mouth to reply, more than likely with a dry insult, something catches my attention and silences her. It is a low droning, the sound of overworked cruiser engines. The sound of death.

Across the mountain range, at the peak of the Third Sister, I see a black shuttle hurtling through the air, bearing the red and black image of a charging Krogan, the insignia of the Dominion. The radio message led them right to us.

The cruiser flies low and comes nearer and nearer, until it is practically bearing down on out heads, and I know my shield cannot hold up to that kind of firepower. I can already feel the hail of bullets ripping through my body. My heart beats furiously: one, two, three, four, ready to burst out of my chest.

We are going to die here.


End file.
